He didn’t look in my direction, and I folded deeper into the shadows of the kitchen, using the corner of the counter to hide my face.
The men, however, were bathed in a contrast of bright light and deep darkness. From the open back door, the floodlight cut a harsh beam that made the scene at the kitchen island garish.
Dominico grabbed the chubby man’s arm, forcing it with only one hand to splay on the counter. “Quit fighting or you’ll make this worse.”
“Signore,signore!” the goon wailed.
Dominico shifted his attention to me. “Grab me the meat cleaver, ragazza.”
I’d never been a servant before. But I was pretty sure housekeepers at the local Motel 6 never participated in such brutal demonstrations with guests. Still, that fucker had made me freeze. The icy tendrils of fear had made me numb. Even though it had only been a second, I hated that he made me feel weak.
Pushing to my feet, I reached for the knife block near the stove.
“Dominico, stop! Are you insane?” the goon reasoned. “She’s a maid. She’ll snitch!”
Drawing my shoulders back, I marched forward, bringing my prize.
“I think she’s enjoying this,” Dominico mused, a slight madness tinging the words. “After all, if I hadn’t have come through the back for a beer, you might have raped her.”
“No!Nnnoo, signore! That’s not true!”
Liar.
Men like him were all the same.
“The bitch wanted it!” the goon protested.
I extended the handle.
Dominico’s gaze shifted to mine, but since my back was to the door, I couldn’t be certain if he could see me clearly. When there was no beat of recognition, no pause to his fury, I let out a soft sigh of relief and scrambled back once I delivered the weapon.
“Spread your fingers,” the mob prince ordered. “If you pull away, I won’t miss twice.”
The goon resisted.
“Do it, or I’ll take the whole hand.” This time, the words were a snarl.
Whimpering, the demon spawn inched the digits open.
There was a pause. The very air held its breath as no one moved. I didn’t even blink, but a shiver of anticipation rattled down my spine.
Do it.
I exhaled.
Dominico’s arm shot up then descended in one fluid motion. The blade clicked hard against the counter. That sound was utterly delicious, as was the stifled gurgle of pain from the goon.
Something thunked onto the floor, rolling under the lip of the counter. It was more than the wet slap of flesh. My gaze snagged on the finger, barely able to make out a slim metal sheen wrapped around the end.
The goon spoke with a hoarse scream. “My fingers!”
“Next time,” Dominico said, almost bored, “I won’t stop at the fingers.”
“You cut them all off!” the goon stammered.
His quick breaths said he was in danger of hyperventilating. But the Grimaldi prince was already wiping the blade with the towel that had been on the island.
“Here.” He tossed the cloth before turning to set the knife in the sink. “Wrap that up. I can’t have you bleeding on the carpet.”
